Pope Pius nodded. “He is. But it has come to my attention that Cardinal Angullo’s camp is going to merge with Cardinal Marcello’s.”
“Has this been confirmed?”
“I’ve been told by those who are neutral that the camps are merging.”
“What does that mean?” asked Kimball.
“It means,” started Cardinal Vessucci, “that my camp has been severely weakened.”
“The world is becoming secular but Cardinal Marcello is unwilling to bend, even in small measures. And the traditionalists within the rank and file see this as a moment to fill the papacy with a staunch conservative, which Bonasero is not.”
Kimball leaned forward. “Are you saying that if Cardinal Marcello wins the papal throne, then he’ll disband the Vatican Knights?”
“Cardinal Marcello will not see the Vatican Knights as saviors of the citizenry of the Church. He will see them as a military force and equate them with warfare and brutality.”
“But that’s not what we’re about.”
“I know that. And Cardinal Vessucci knows that. And so do those within the Society of Seven. But there are certain constituencies within this Church that will never align themselves with those who agree with the existence of the Vatican Knights for the reason I just proposed to you.”
“Then we’ll enlighten them,” said Kimball.
“To inform the constituencies of the Vatican Knights will cause controversy and most likely division within the Church, which we cannot afford. The pope is the bearer of Vatican secrets and must hold them close, in order to keep the Church from dividing. However, all secrets must be delivered to the pope in a way that the mantle is passed, and he must become the Bearer. And as the Bearer, he has the right to choose what to do with those secrets accordingly. Knowing that Cardinal Marcello is conservative by nature, he will most assuredly disband the Knights, which is something I would believe to be in grave error.”
“So what do we do?”
“In the time I have left, the good cardinal and I must campaign with due diligence. I still have pull with some of the traditionalists. And Bonasero has good report with those in the College, who have remained neutral. I believe together we can develop a constituency that will exceed Cardinal Marcello’s. But it will take work.”
“Do you think this can be done?” asked the cardinal.
“It has to be done,” he returned.
“Why don’t we just operate under the guidance of Bonasero and the members of the Society of Seven?” asked Kimball.
“No matter what, my friend, we cannot and will not hold secrets from the reigning pope. If we begin to do that, then structure within the Church begins to break down. The pope is the figurehead of Catholicism and must sit upon the papal throne in full control. If he is not, then the institution will ultimately fail from corruption within. What the pope knows, what the pope has to know, is optimum.”
Kimball fell back into his seat. Things weren’t looking up.
The pope then addressed Kimball. “But what is even more important, my friend, is to protect you from whoever it is that is out there trying to kill you. Without you, then there can be no Vatican Knights.”
“Not true,” he said. He instantly realized the adulation. “Isaiah and Leviticus can easily lead the teams. A Vatican Knight is a Vatican Knight.”
“But none as unique as you are. And that, my friend, was not meant to be flattery.”
Kimball bowed his head with humility. He truly respected this man who saw in him what he did not see in himself: an underlying goodness. “Thank you.”
“With the grace of God,” said Pius, “then we will be able to win on both fronts.”
“And if we don’t?” asked Kimball.
“Then the Church will come under the power of a Traditionalist. And the Vatican Knights will be no more… And if you do not survive the war that is sure to follow you, then we will all lose.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“He’s out there. He’s deadly… And he’s coming our way.”
As required, Joshua and Ezekiel returned from sabbatical. Along with Kimball and Cardinal Vessucci, they gathered inside an uncharted building which served as a barracks that was situated between the St. Martha’s Chapel and the Ethiopian College, about 200 meters west of the Basilica. The building itself was simple and nondescript, its purpose to draw little attention other than it being a housing relic created of field stone an cement mortar.
The interior was an antiquated throwback where everything was constructed of stone and rock shingle the color of desert sand. Along the walls were ornamental sconces — the natural light came in through stained glass windows that chronicled the Stations of the Cross. In the center was the Circular Chamber, a huge rotunda that separated the building into two separate wings. It was the room of ceremony where a man either became a knight of the Vatican, or as an assembly area where viewings were held for knights who had fallen in combat.
The Chamber’s floor was a mosaic masterpiece of art majestically cobbled together to form the emblem of the Vatican Knights. Centered within the coat of arms was a Silver Cross Pattée set against a blue background.
And not only did the crest serve the Vatican Knights as a symbol of positive fortitude, but also as a constant reminder of what they were as the emblem appeared everywhere throughout this house of divinity. The coat of arms was depicted in stained glass images and served as the titled insignia on their uniforms and berets. It was also acid-etched into the stone wall above the door of their living quarters.
Standing on the outskirts of the mosaic emblem with their hands clasped together behind the small of their backs, with their feet slightly parted in the at-ease position, Kimball paced back and forth briefing his team of what was to come. Yet his tone was steady and his features stoic.
“You all know what I was before I became a Knight and what I did,” he said. “My past is no secret to anybody in this room. And now it appears that it has come back to haunt me. And I mean literally.” He stopped pacing and took a spot in the center of the mosaic coat of arms. “Whoever is hunting me is doing so with a skill that rivals the Vatican Knights,” he added. “He’s stealthy, he’s deadly, and he’s methodical. In fact, he took out an entire team of seasoned vets who were once considered to be the best the world had to offer in the field of wetwork assassinations. And that’s saying something.”
“Is there anything — anything at all — that we can go on?” asked Job. “Is there anything that can give us an edge?”
Kimball nodded. “Nothing,” he said. “This guy’s without a face.”
“And a Shadowman is usually impossible to beat,” added Ezekiel. “If we don’t know our target, then how are we supposed to neutralize the situation?”
“We have to draw him in,” said Kimball. “And wait for him to make a mistake.”
“But that can come at a cost,” said Joshua.
And Joshua was right, he considered. Costs often came with the loss of life the moment the assassin revealed himself, while making his own targeted kill. Perhaps the flash of a muzzle or the victim’s dying moan. Anything that would draw attention to those acute enough to realize that something was out there whetting its desire to kill.
But this time they’d all be watching for those little imperfections.
Cardinal Vessucci crossed the floor wearing his traditional cloak and scarlet zucchetto and stood next to Kimball, who served as a physical antithesis to the much smaller man. He then asked the Knights to bow their heads in simple prayer, and then he spoke softly in Latin, only to finalize the prayer with the signature mark of the Cross. “May God be with you,” he said.